Women as army surgeons

by Flora Murray

In March 1917 a return showed that three women had replaced four men as dining-hall attendants, one woman had replaced one sergeant as cook, and fourteen women had replaced fourteen men on general duties. Later, the Doctor-in-Charge stated that ‘no additional women can be employed in substitution for men in this hospital.’ The staff of men had been reduced to two N.C.O.’s and six men, and fourteen young women had been attached to the R.A.M.C. detachment to act under the orders of the sergeant-major.

There was no difficulty about the arrangement. The girls were splendid. They emptied the ward bins, managed the incinerator, removed soiled linen and took up the clean, distributed the dinner wagons, swept and hosed the square, carried stretchers, conducted patients to the stations or travelled with them to Brighton and other places, as required. They rose at night when the convoy bell rang or air-raid warnings came through; they manned the fire hose and took their turn of night duty and gate duty, with marked efficiency. The sergeant-major praised them highly; for they were sober, disciplined and industrious. The men and women paraded together, but messed separately; and the mixed company, which had at first been tried as an experiment, was one of the great successes.

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Experience in France had shown that though visitors in the wards were a great help and pleasure, the number and the kind of visitor might easily be harmful, and a decision was taken to regulate the visiting, so as to reserve certain days and hours when quietness might prevail in the wards and when the nurses might be able to give extra care and attention to those who needed it. These regulations were found to be fully justified; for the many very sick men constantly distributed through the hospital would have suffered more than was right if unlimited visiting had been allowed. In order that there might be dependable visitors, a lady was appointed as official ward visitor to each ward. She became an honorary member of the corps and devoted herself to the interests and welfare of the men in her ward.

‘I want to ask you a question,’ said a rather dour sort of man to his ward visitor when she came to his bedside.

‘Yes, what is it?’ she asked, sitting down beside him.

‘I want to know what you come for. You come and sit by my bed and talk, and you never talk about religion nor about politics. Now, what do you do it for?’

When she explained that she did it in the hope of giving him a little change and pleasure, he said: ‘Well, I say that it’s wonderful.’

Men confined to bed for long periods looked forward to their visitor’s days, and missed them when they were out of town. And many still write to the ladies who gave so much time to this work and who had such a sympathetic understanding of their needs.

The hospital was overwhelmed by visitors of all sorts and conditions, who came at all hours for any purpose and who were all determined to ‘speak one word of kindness to the poor fellows,’ or, as one lady wrote, ‘to bring one ray of pleasure into the lives of the poor mutilated darlings.’ There were scores of people representing regimental associations and other societies, who were sure that no one except themselves would say ‘a kind word’ or convey ‘a little brightness’ into the wards. All of them expected and demanded nominal rolls of men in hospital from the overworked clerks, and they did not accept it amiably if the ‘one man they wanted to see’ was out. It was difficult to make people realise that wards must close at 5 P.M., since there were nursing and dressing to do.